Selcouth
by Isolde Necrophilia
Summary: Squall/Rinoa/Seifer - Post-FFVIII - Rinoa is troubled by an advancing rumour that suggests she will become the evil force which is Ultimecia; as she tries to adapt to a regular life studying at Balamb, she becomes more deeply frustrated, and falls into what she fears is the beginning stages of her future's madness.
1. RETROUVAILLE

**RETROUVAILLE : ** the joy of meeting or _finding someone_ again after a **l o n g** separation `; rediscovery

_March 3, app. two thirty-three in the afternoon_

* * *

"Miss, please refrain from doodling or making _any _marking on our desks. Thank you."

A rose's core as it might appear in the shade bloomed into Rinoa's otherwise pale cheeks and, with it, welcomed a fire; her hand, which had taken a pen with black ink as its dancing partner, had once tangoed across the surface of the cherry wood desk situated against the far wall of the library, froze with her widening doe eyes. The girl, who had renamed herself a woman officially as she had just hit her twentieth year of life, quickly regained her composure and allowed a dazzling smile to lift either ends of her lips. She spoke with the melody of her mother's song in her voice, and with the decadence of her father: "I apologize! I got carried away; I'll clean it up…"

The librarian cast a knowing glare and stalked away to peer over the shoulders of the more youthful students. Relieved, Rinoa slid her thumb against the bridge of her tongue and tried to scrub the stars from the polished wood but, to no avail, they did nothing but smear darkness over what she thought to be one of the most beautiful shades of red in the whole world. She sighed a little; at a later time (when she remembered, honestly) she would creep into the cabinets of the janitors and properly wipe the excess ink. But, for now, she used her notebook to bring them out of sight and instead tried to refocus on her original task: studying.

After years of not attending formal school, Rinoa could hardly remember _how_ to study. She took too many notes on irrelevant conversations with her instructors and could, therefore, hardly retain the correct information. She was completely intent on absorbing and passing the few classes she had chosen to take this semester, however; Cid (what a nice man, really!) recognized the desperate tone in her voice and was easily persuaded into letting the raven-haired woman enroll into formal training instead of the self-taught rogue abilities she had acquired from striving for independence for Timber. The instructors emphasized the practicality and mastering of magic, especially as they applied to a sorceress, such as herself. The lessons were accommodating, but they were heavy, and Rinoa felt as though her knees could buckle under the weight at any moment.

"That's the witch. You should probably look at Mrs. Picone one last time, 'cause the witch will probably murder her!"

"Maybe she'll ruin her face. Or burn off her limbs."

"Or cast a curse?"

Rinoa glanced at the source of the voice trio: three juniors, one female, two male. Though all but one male were standing with their backs to her, she didn't recognize them. So she reread the same sentence she had read twice before but focused harder, hoping the fragment would suddenly make sense and the trio would fade into the background of the rest of the gossiping Balamb students.

"_I_ think they should lock her up, for good," the second student, a female, continued. "There's a place where they freeze sorceresses and their powers. Sure, she won't do anything now, but have you heard the rumors? They think that the one sorceress – Ultimecia or whatever? – is actually _her_ – but her future self. I say if they lock her up, a lot more people will be better off."

_Just block it out. Just block it out! They're just stupid kids. They don't know any better. . ._

"Heh. Know what I think?" The first, a boy, piped up. His voice suddenly became a little quieter, and there was cockiness laced with self-satisfaction that made Rinoa's gut wrench. "They won't pick her up 'cause she's fucking Commander Leonhart!"

"Must be a good lay," the third, also a boy, said stupidly. Rinoa tried so desperately to pretend like she was studying, but the red lingered in her face, her fists were practically vibrating in her lap, and tears boiled around her long lashes and, finally, spilled over when laughter from the trio cracked the biblio atmosphere.

"Hey. Why don't you all go fuck yourselves? Your hand would probably help out with your little jacked up problem; are your mothers just too fuckin' loose? Does Daddy's cock have warts on it?"

Rinoa remained very still and the buzzing of students, not only from the trio who had harmed her, halted. She didn't need to look out of the corner of her eye to know who it was who had said such words; the voice was like an impregnated memory: conceived, cognizant, but not quite alive.

"Seifer Almasy! Get out, _right this very instant!_ The disciplinary committee will surely hear of this –" The librarian quirked up, but his boots were already clacking against the hard, emerald floor and becoming louder.

"Right, whatever. Say somethin' to me, but not these little assholes," he said, his voice laced with cool steam and disdain. His hand clamped on Rinoa's shoulder and lingered, only for a moment, before the clacking of his boots faded.

Her heart was throbbing so much inside her chest, it almost kind of hurt. She turned a page, followed by another, and hardly noticed that she had passed the section assigned and was skimming over a section titled "Advanced Elements". Students slowly began to whisper, but it was much quieter – about her, of course, but quiet.

"My head hurts," she said to no one particular and rose from her seat. She gathered her things, tucked them beneath her arm, and, with her tear-streamed face held high, followed her childhood sweetheart.

* * *

"Seifer! Seifer, wait, please! Don't make me make you!"

His gunblade had risen from its position inside his belt to the surface of his shoulder where it bounced idly on its dull edge; through the heat brimming in the lining of her eyes, she wondered which song was playing inside his head and why. It might have been a waltz, she thought, because he smacked his shoulder a bit rough after two soft beats. A tiny smile enlightened her visage. _Dum, da, da, dum, da, da…_

He paused in such a fashion as to make her believe that he was considering otherwise. "Oh no, what's the princess planning?"

"You don't wanna know!" her brows perked. "It's pretty intense."

"I'm not afraid of you," he said, his voice laced with sarcasm and a play for the knowledge of the cocky archetype. He resumed his stride but was much slower, and he replaced his gunblade.

Rinoa took action. Wiping the hot moisture from her cheeks with the blue cloth on her wrist, she rushed behind his tall build and pounced. Her arms wrapped around his sleek neck and her legs around his waist and clung tightly despite his clawing and effort to remove her from his back.

"I'm going to fall over because of you, fatty! If I break my back, it's your fault!"

A soft giggle omitted from the core of her chest. "Hey! That's not very nice! Apologize!"

His elbows linked around the bend of her knees. "Make me."

Her teeth nipped against the wide ring of his ear only for a moment before she pulled away, pretending to spit on the padding beneath his silver coat. "Ew, ear wax! Do you ever clean yourself?"

"That's what she said," he teased, shrugging his shoulders to support her clinging figure. She relaxed her chin against his shoulder and sighed.

"You're not very kind, dear _sir_."

"Yeah, well…" he trailed forward, into the past, and lingered briefly before catching himself and dragging his mind into the present. The gunblade specialist cleared his throat. "What was I supposed to wait for, _princess_? To give you a chocobo-back ride?"

"Of course! You say that like you're bothered by it. Am I to replace you? Send you to the dungeons to allow you to waste away for all eternity?" Rinoa mocked.

"No, never! Please forgive me, oh foul-smelling princess!"

Rinoa's foot jutted into his ribs and her tongue clicked. "Onward, slave!"

Seifer's cyan hues glistened. He took a few reluctant steps forward and his back heaved with purpose, as though her weight was truly tremendous in comparison to his strength. "Where are we going, anyway? You dropped your books back there…"

Rinoa cast a careful glance over her shoulder. Behind them was a bundle of crushed papers and a very thick textbook, which lay idly in the way of Balamb students who were walking to and from the library. She tossed her silk hair and shrugged. "Irrelevant! Take me,… oh, take me to the moon!"

He cocked a brow. "The moon? That'll take days…"

"Is that too much of a request? Shall I ask someone else?"

"No, no, the moon it is," he rolled his eyes and shrugged again. Apathetic, he turned right where the blue trail met with the color-tainted path. As silly as the circumstances were, they were distracting him from his responsibility to report to the disciplinary committee and explain himself thoroughly. Cid had allowed him to return to his old life with the promise that he would behave himself as its underlying foundation; he had withheld that promise, mostly, and he knew Cid would understand so long as he relied on Seifer instead of Mrs. Cactuarface for sources.

Rinoa became quiet as they rounded the hall. Her nails dug into his coat and her eyes slipped shut. "Thank you."

"I think my back is giving out…"

"No, I mean – oh shut up! I mean for back there. They're awful. They really, really are."

Seifer's voice softened. "You don't deserve that kind of treatment."

"I'm so scared. I really do think that one day I'll become her,… Ultimecia…"

"You're not! They're stupid. She claimed to have been from several generations into the future. It wouldn't make sense. If you were her, or she you,… or… whatever, then why didn't she know what Ellone at least looked like? The only way she even knew that she had existed was because of what that crazy little fucker in the clown suit named his machine –"

"By then, I'll probably have forgotten everything. She seemed lost, like she didn't have an origin."

His jaw clenched. "It. Wasn't. You."

Rinoa's eyelids fluttered. "I'm sorry, I'm sure you don't want to discuss it."

Silence, again, betray each other's insecurities. As they approached the opposing opening to the elevator, Rinoa tugged Seifer's sleeve and he slowly allowed her body to slide down his back until her feet kissed the floor. He then turned to her, his narrow eyes betraying the warmth resulting from the contentment he truly felt.

"Well, _Sir_ _Almasy_, I must thank you for coming to my rescue and for your gracious transportation."

He nodded. "I am,… err… honored to have been able to service the princess on the day of her birth."

The sorceress blinked. "On the day of my… what? It's not my birthday!"

"It's the third of March. That's the day you were born, right?"

"I… I think so. You sure today is March third…?" she trailed off, her lips pursing in a tight frown.

"Sorry to break it to you," Seifer chuckled. "Happy twenty-first birthday, princess. Look, I should probably go before the staff gets their panties in a bunch. But, I,… I really do want to talk about things."

Distracted by her questionable memory, Rinoa brought her fingertips to her face and nodded. "Y-yes, of course, that would be great…"

"I really do miss you," he said confidently as he tried to take her by the hand. She yanked away from his touch and, as if she had been stolen by a trance, drifted towards the elevator doors.

"_Where's Squall?"_


	2. NAUFRAGOUS

**NAUFRAGOUS : i. **causing shipwreck `; **ii. **in _danger_ of being ** d** or totally destroyed

_March 3, app. four fourty-two in the afternoon_

* * *

"Hi, Cid! And Laguna! I _need_ to discuss something privately with Squall for a quick second; would you mind if I steal him?"

Rinoa had suddenly appeared from the lift and before any of the three males could respond, she had hooked her elbow around the leather-clad arm of her fiancée. There was no evidence of the flood of emotion which had overwhelmed her only moments ago; instead, her cheeks were swollen from where her mouth smiled and her eyes seemed to absorb the lights from just outside the window and reflect them with fabricated optimism. Her opposite hand lifted to tuck her caramel strands of hair behind her ear and she motioned her head towards the vertical machine.

Cid Kramer pushed his wide, clammy hands into the front pockets of his slacks and surrendered a nervous glance to his comrades. Laguna, whose back was to the directing panel of the Garden, did not imitate the shared uncertainty. He flashed his trademark foolish grin and shrugged a bit, also lifting his hand to fiddle with his greying hair. "Yeah, go ahead. He's all yours. We were almost done anyway; I'm sure Cid and I can work out all of the details."

Rinoa's brilliant smile widened. "Does that mean you're agreeing to the financial liability of Balamb?"

Laguna shuffled his feet. "Uh, yeah, sorta. Somethin' like that…" he trailed off and gave the man in Rinoa's arms a look which she couldn't quite place. Confused, she glanced at the taller male, whose face remained coaxed miles away. "It's a little complicated, but basically what we've agreed to is that a portion of Esthar's reserved cash will be given to the Garden for their support. I gotta run it by a couple guys at home, but because we want to open our borders to the world and also for the Garden's participation in defeating Sorceress Ultimecia, it shouldn't be a problem. Also, 'cause of Squall and I's, err… relationship, a higher sum will go to him, which, because of his position as commander, will go to the Garden."

"What relatio –…?"

"Didn't you say you needed to speak with me urgently?" Squall interrupted coldly.

"U-uh, yeah, I did, sorry," the sorceress' face flushed. Her arm loosened its grip on his and fell so that her fingers would be able to entwine with his. He lifted his arms, instead, and crossed them defensively over his chest. For fear of confronting the rejection, she caught her own wrist behind her back and flashed yet another friendly smile to the two older men. "Thank you."

Squall nodded in Cid's direction, then Laguna's, and lead Rinoa out of the bridge.

* * *

"Whoo-hoo! Matron confirmed the wedding location!"

Selphie's child-like hands pumped into the air and she released a soft scream of victory; Irvine, who had become accustomed to his girlfriend's eccentric behavior, lifted his eyes from his bow and pistol long enough to wink in her direction. "That's great, Selph. Told ya she would."

"So? I told ya she would _not_. I guess you won the bet, then," she closed the lid of her laptop and carefully set it aside, on the floor space beside her feet, and leaned towards the gunman who, apparently, had no intention of being distracted from cleaning and polishing his beloved shotgun. Selphie placed her palms beside his thigh and lifted her leg, playfully slinking towards Irvine. "What are you gonna do to me?"

The cowboy hardly responded, however. A forced smirk appeared on his otherwise concentrated visage and he spared her another glance without any intention of providing her attention. "I dunno, I guess I'll have to think about it."

Selphie suddenly became very still. "What? You _never _'think' about it!"

"Do, too!"

"Do, not!"

"Too!"

"Like when?" She scowled, falling onto her heels and crossing her arms across her petite chest.

Irvine hesitantly rested his weapon across his lap and exhaled. "Selph, I dunno. Every time?"

"That's a lie!" The spunk replied, pointing a finger in his direction. "You didn't think about it when we did it on stage! Nida was sittin' right there, you know! And when we were in the library! And in Squall's room! And in the bathroom, and at dinner with Cid, and –"

"Alright, alright, I'm sorry! C'mere."

"No! Now I'm angry with you – and for real, this time! I'm going. I gotta start looking for the right decorations, anyway," she spat, climbing off the mattress they shared and seizing the laptop from the carpet. Irvine blinked, eyes suddenly becoming very wide.

"No, wait –"

But she was already gone, boots and all. The cowboy sighed once more and bowed his head, returning to his weapon idly.

* * *

**Quick A/N:** Esther is "Library Girl with Pigtail". (;

* * *

Esther's legs were swinging freely at the edge of the stage when Selphie approached with laptop in hand.

"Men. Are. STUPID."

Esther frowned with confusion and stopped the movement in her legs; instead, she leaned forward, and scrambled aside to allow Selphie to effortlessly pull herself onto the stage's nearly frightful height. "Wh-what? What do you mean?"

As she became situated, the brunette adjusted the defining curls in her hair and fixed her short yellow dress as to ensure that no one could steal a glance of her goods. "It's stupid-freakin'-Irvine! You know how he's always on top of me, and how he's always horny? Well, we haven't done _it_ in three days. I was kinda relieved, but a minute ago I was kind of in the mood, and you know what he tells me? That he needs to _think about it_."

Esther tried to offer a bright smile to counteract her friend's sour mood. "Well, maybe he's tired?"

Selphie clamped her hands over her face. "He's _never_ too tired! Believe me."

"W-well,… what do you think it is, th-then?" Esther pursed her lips together tightly.

"I dunno," the smaller female frowned, slumping her shoulders. "Maybe he's seeing another girl."

"Wh-what? No! He'd never do that to you! He l-l-loves you, you know that. S-sure, he looks at other g-girls, b-but…"

Selphie placed her computer back on her lap and flipped open the lid, but not before giving Esther a questionable look. "Whatever, I don't wanna think about it. Why are you so nervous?"

"Nervous?"

"You stutter when you're nervous. I haven't heard you do that in like,… a year," she occupied herself by drawing a website linking her to her favorite wedding adornment store. "Somethin' goin' on with you and Zell? Is that why you were here by yourself?

Esther's face flushed and she shifted uncomfortably. "No. Well,… um… it's silly, really."

Selphie lifted her gaze to her friend's darting emerald hues and, trading roles, tried to provide an encouraging smile. She gently bumped their shoulders. "C'mon, tell me. I tell you all the stupid problems I have with 'vine."

"W-well,… it's just that, um,… well, the other day, w-we,… well, I mean _I_, met his mom. And she was s-so sweet, but um, he wouldn't let me see his room."

The nunchaku wielder tried to stifle a laugh by covering her mouth, but the burst of energy came through her nose in a loud snort and she had no other option but to laugh at the situation and the ridiculous noise which sounded from her. "What! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, it's not funny! Oh, don't look so hurt! He wouldn't let any of us in his room, either, you know, so don't feel bad. I mean, I did see it once back in the day, but that was 'cause –"

"You didn't _sleep_ with him, did you?"

Selphie's eyes widened upon the accusation and, for a moment, she was lost for words. In a hushed voice, she shook her head. "_No_, ew, of course not!"

Esther glowered at her friend and was about to speak when an obnoxious beep sounded from the band wrapped beneath her skirt. She lifted the cloth slightly and, retrieving her communication device, began to read the message when Selphie tilted her head to read.

"I bet that's him now!"

"No!" Esther screamed and hugged the technology to her chest as though it was the dearest thing in her world. Selphie drew away slowly, confusion and hurt laced in her expression. "I-I gotta g-go."

She watched as the Pigtailed Girl jumped from the stage and dashed inside the closed area of the Garden and, she knew, that she had taken what was left of her heart with her.

* * *

Inside the security of the dormitories was where the engaged couple lingered with constricted chests and trembling fists. The woman's hair was teased and minor bald patches were hidden away in the darkest shadows of her roots; her eyes had, once more, become tinted with the color of blood and her cheeks felt so raw that each following tear nearly stinged. The man, meanwhile, was light-years away: he seemed to be unchanged, and only his defensive stance suggested that he was engaged in some sort of an argument. The woman noted how cold the room had become since he walked through the doors.

"You won't even touch me, Squall! Just tell me what's wrong, please! Let me in!"

Squall hesitated to speak. "…it's nothing..."

"…nothing," Rinoa spoke at the same time and scoffed, rolling her eyes and flinging her arm in his direction. "You're still _so damn predictable!_ I thought I was in love with you, not my father."

The commander became stiff; a storm of thoughts, confessions, whirled in his head. He was tempted to admit them to her, but Hell, he couldn't even admit the truth to himself. His chin fell adjacent to the floor.

In the silence, Rinoa struggled to reach him. Finally, her voice softened, and she dared to assess her faith. "Do you know what day it is?"

Squall's clothed hand lifted to his forehead and he idly scratched the scare crossing his nose to his forehead. "What?"

"Do you know what day it is?" Rinoa repeated herself; her voice grew stronger, but her eyes, weaker, for she already knew the answer to the question which she had asked.

"It's the third of March. What does that have to do with anything?" He folded his arms back across his white beater and met her eyes which had, once again, begun to boil with hot tears.

"Do you know _why_ today is special?" Rinoa tested him as she began to slink away, the back of her legs brushing against the hem of the bed which they had once held each other in.

The SeeD's cyan orbs narrowed as he wracked through his memory and tried to recall any special holiday which might have taken place – anything which might have struck his usually lively fiancée as momentous. Yet he could not recall any significance about this day, other than the anxieties which had struck him that morning, which related to his underlying apathy. His face softened. "Is it… our anniversary?"

Her digits fled back to her roots and she twisted, her back now facing him as she released a shriek of wrath. "No! It's my _birthday_!"

Squall flinched as the reality suddenly yanked him from his distance world and placed him where his body was, so close to hers. His insides became iron and gravity was greedily grabbing his ankles, testing the strength in his knees, and he was utterly rendered speechless. "No,… no! Dammit, Rinoa, I –"

"You _forgot_ about me!"

The tone of her voice was the sharpest razor; it was skinning him, slowly. It had been all along. He just hadn't felt the string until now. "You,… Rinoa, I can't remember anything. It's the Guardian Forces, you know that."

When the sorceress failed to respond to his efforts, Squall surrendered an ounce of his pride and took a step forward. He clamped his hand on her shoulder and squeezed. "Rinoa, believe me."

And suddenly, it was as though her body had become a negative force field: his hand bounced off the woven blue she wore and behind his back; he had to step to catch himself from falling off balance and landing on his ass. Any muscle remaining in his new iron gut quenched from the memories of her which lingered behind the Forces of Rinoa possessed. The gunbladesman persisted. "Sweetheart, _calm down_."

But it was too late. The wrath building inside of her had possessed what little of her mind she controlled and suddenly her imagination became her will. Her conscious effort of remaining stable and of well mind drifted far, far away and, in its place, power swelled. It was as though it had never existed. Just like, to him, _she had never existed_. Her fists slacked at her side and the tears ran dry. "Don't tell me what to do."

Squall, meanwhile, had been lifted from the ground and was floating in midair. Adrenalin soared through his veins and made his heart rush like a runaway train destined to detonate. "Rinoa," he repeated her name again, desperately, hoping that maybe if he said it over and over, she would remember who she was. Who he thought she was. "This isn't you."

"Maybe,… if I remove the cause, it will relieve the symptom," her otherwise sweet voice cracked.

Squall's brows drew together. Whose words were those? They didn't sound like hers. No, that wasn't her voice, no, no, no – that wasn't her. It couldn't be! And suddenly he heard a loud bang, and the frame resting on a desk below him clashed on the ground. She'd thrown him against a wall. "RINOA!"

The sorceress' eyes rolled into the back of her head as she pried into his; there must have been the answer, somewhere – somewhere at the curve of his skull. It should have been there, a magical presence, and – yes! – there it was: the answer to their problems, the answer to her unhappiness. Rinoa inhaled sharply as she riveted what she could; his screams were mere vibrations to her ears.

Like a mist rising from a pool of water emerged silver, blue and yellow and through the colors appeared a bare woman with transparent skin. Her lips parted, but no noise emerged from them: her eyes spoke, and as Squall realized what Rinoa was doing, regarded her fear helplessly. The ice which packed her curves dispersed in the air; her skin, the whitest if white, melted to reveal color. The Guardian Force's hand quivered as it lifted to cast a spell against her enemy, but Rinoa, whose back was to her, was quick and absorbed her power before it could injure her.

"Rinoa! What the hell are you doing!"

The sorceress' empty eyes fluttered. Like a child, she whispered: "What?"

Squall's unconscious body dropped from its place on the wall and hit the desk below him, a sharp crack deriving from somewhere on his body. Rinoa turned quickly on her heel, eyes now wide with cognition, jaw slackened in awe.

Shiva – or someone who she thought was Shiva – was lying in a meshed pool of water and carpet with her knees tucked against her chest. How vulnerable she was! Rinoa's fingertips pressed against her pout; she backed further away from the scene, sinking into the mattress when her knees finally buckled in. The woman who had broken the trance had rushed inside and was kneeling beside the fallen Guardian Force, tempted to touch her, but unsure and frightened.

"Someone, can I get some help!"

_Oh, Quisty, I'm so sorry. Kill me now, please, before it's too late. _


End file.
